My Dad. He got me off to a start at the age of 14 with his old ben pearson bow. Borrowed his own army tiger stripped camo suit and I ventured into farm country Oct. 1st of the year 2000. Didn't have much luck in the morning from that ladder stand by a bean field. Got discouraged, as some new bow hunters do. Dad told me to "Get back out there tonight" knowing the deer would move. Sure enough, like all dads are, he was right. I tagged my first ever buck, a 7 point. That started the journey. Fast forward now 19 years, wow... We still hunt together as a family. Mom started a few years back also, and wondered why she didn't start years ago. She loves it. In those 19 years, my Dad has heard every success story, every story on a possible chance at a buck that didn't materialize. He has heard me complain about weather, deer movement, and every minor detail in between. He has also put me onto some nice bucks, I tease him about paying for his outfitter service as more than a few times his information to me resulted in a nice buck getting tagged. What's more about this bond we share is that he is my dad. And that alone is worth more than any bowhunting. Love ya pops. I hope all of you get to spend lots of time with family this fall season. Enjoy it together.